


to a heart in port

by tosca1390



Category: Hidden Legacy Series - Ilona Andrews
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12999159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: “You left me to the hordes.”“They’re our family, Nevada. Open-door policy,” he says warmly.Five years in, she still gets a funny flutter in her chest hearing him speak of her family astheirsorours. She loves him so much, it’s annoying.





	to a heart in port

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dallisons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this slice-of-life Yuletide gift! Many thanks to my beta. Happy Yuletide!

[*]

The tones of her family wakes Nevada on a grey December morning. She blinks against the sunlight and rolls from her back to her stomach, groaning. She can hear Arabella’s pitch rising against Catalina’s, her mother’s soothing voice piping in. Stretching out an arm, she finds nothing but rumpled cool sheets and opens her eyes. 

Alone in bed. On a Saturday. 

“Connor, what the hell,” she murmurs, pushing herself up to sit with a yawn. 

A glance at the clock on her nightstand reveals the unfortunately early hour of 8:00 in the morning. Having gone to bed just six hours ago after a tedious stakeout (cheating spouses never get cleverer), she had looked forward to sleeping in and waking up with her husband for the first time in a few days. Mad Rogan is still Mad Rogan, but saving Houston and magical infrastructure from megalomaniacs has made him quite popular in the business world. With her business thriving, they are sometimes like two ships passing in the night. 

“NEVADA!”

“Oh my god,” she mutters, rolling her eyes at Arabella’s call up the stairs. She slides out of bed, clad in shorts and a long t-shirt, and pads over the hardwood floors to her closet. Connor is nowhere to be found in her quick recon of the second floor, which is disappointing. 

When Nevada enters the spacious kitchen downstairs, clad in her weekend work outfit of jeans and an overlarge sweater, she finds her mother, grandmother, and two sisters huddled around the island in the middle of the space, hands wrapped around various ceramic mugs. A plate of pastries sits in the center of their little circle. The smell of cinnamon makes Nevada’s stomach turn slightly. She puts her hands in her pockets and crinkles her nose. 

“You all have a kitchen. In the house right down the road. You know that, right?” she asks, moving to the marble countertops near the sink. There is an empty mug with remnants of coffee in the bottom, sitting in the sink basin. Connor’s?

“Catalina wants to break up with her latest. We need a conference,” Arabella says pertly. 20 years old, she’s grown into her athletic frame and her immense power. Collegiate soccer is how she channels her frustration now; it’s a productive outlet. She tucks her light hair behind her ears, grinning. 

“Shut _up_ ,” Catalina moans. “It’s a college boyfriend, sometimes they don’t last!”

“Especially when you’re out in the real world and Alessandro Sagredo has you on speed dial,” Grandma Frida says under her breath. 

Both Penelope and Nevada roll their eyes as Arabella emits a cackle not unlike their grandmother’s, and Catalina rests her forehead on the island countertop.

“Just be kind,” Nevada advises, pouring a half-cup of coffee into a clean mug and filling the rest with cream. Cutting the acidity of the caffeine might settle her nerves (and hopefully her stomach). “You’re naturally empathetic. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t need advice,” Catalina mutters. 

Arabella squints her bright gaze at Nevada. “Lots of cream in there.”

_Uh-oh_. “Don’t you start analyzing me. I’m the head of our House.”

The kitchen is quiet for a moment. Nevada breathes out and takes a milky sip of coffee, peering out at the gray-green landscape surrounding their home. The garden she’s worked on with Connor over the last five years is dormant but ready for new life in the spring. She tugs down the hem of her sweater.

“You haven’t told him!” Grandma Frida exclaims abruptly, setting her mug down with a loud clank. 

Nevada shoots a narrow glance at her grandmother as Arabella claps her hands together and shouts “Ha!” at the top of her lungs. Catalina’s head pops up, eyes wide, and Penelope just sighs. 

“You’re pregnant. I knew it,” Arabella crows, wriggling on her barstool. 

“How does _she_ know and I don’t?” Catalina exclaims, dark curls flying as she shakes her head. 

“How could you not have told Connor yet? It’s been a week since your appointment,” Penelope asks gently. 

“Hey! I have a job, you know,” Nevada exclaims. “You know, it supports our family? I’m busy!”

“How long do you think he’ll let you out on stakeouts once he finds out?” Arabella murmurs. 

“We should do an over/under bet on her curfew,” Catalina adds. 

Nevada pinches her thumb and index fingers at the base of her nose, shutting her eyes. Her stomach flips and she takes a deep breath. “Connor isn’t my boss or my guardian, so no curfew. And he was away for a lot of this week on business. We haven’t had a lot of time alone,” she says evenly. 

“I want 11 at night in the bet,” Arabella says to Catalina. 

“10:45,” Catalina returns with a laugh. 

“10:59,” Grandma Frida pipes up. 

“Mother,” Penelope groans. 

Grandma arches a brow. “It’s all about strategy, Penelope.”

“Did you see him?” Nevada asks, setting her cooling mug down. 

“Briefly,” her mother says, sipping her coffee. “He said Bug needed him downtown this morning.”

Nevada sighs. _Great_. “Listen, I am dealing with it today, ok?”

Catalina smiles beatifically as Arabella and their grandmother make chicken clucking sounds. Penelope reaches over to touch Nevada’s arm in comfort.

Smiling at her mother and glaring at the others, Nevada squeezes her mother’s hand. “I have calls to make and a cheating husband to pin down. Feel free to steal more of my food,” she calls as she ducks out of the kitchen. She pulls out her phone as she reaches the foyer. As she tugs on her buttery leather jacket with one hand, her finger hovers over Connor’s number. She swipes in favor of texting Cornelius to meet her at the downtown office. 

Over a nice meal. That feels more appropriate to tell her husband about a pregnancy. Yes. 

[*]

Halfway through her drive to downtown Houston, her phone rings. 

“You were up early,” Nevada says as she answers on speakerphone. 

Connor chuckles through the phone. “Good morning to you, too.”

“You left me to the hordes.”

“They’re our family, Nevada. Open-door policy,” he says warmly. 

Five years in, she still gets a funny flutter in her chest hearing him speak of her family as _theirs_ or _ours_. She loves him so much, it’s annoying. “Yeah, but I wanted to spend my morning with you, hubby,” she says, smiling to herself. 

“We’ve talked about that nickname,” he murmurs. 

“Where are you?” she asks, coming to a stop at a red light. Houston’s skyline creeps closer, all silver and iron. Her magic is a steady thrum under her skin. She is as at home with it now as she is with Connor. 

“Just some business around town and with Bug. I’ll be home around noon,” he says. “Do you have another stakeout tonight?”

She breathes out as the light turns green. “No. I thought we could do dinner.”

“Great minds think alike,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice. “How would you feel about Flanders?”

Odd choice. “Sure.” They’ve been to Flanders enough times over the last few years, but it isn’t their usual night-out spot. Either it’s a special occasion or Connor needs them to be seen, out and united. “What time?”

“6:30. Should I let Catalina and Arabella know you’ll need their help?”

“Ha ha ha,” she mutters. “Love you.”

Connor laughs comfortably. “Love you.”

The call ends. Nevada crinkles her forehead as she drives into the city limits of Houston. She has a lovely downtown office for Baylor Investigations in the Greenspoint neighborhood, but sometimes she still misses the warehouse. 

Her cell dings with an incoming message. She knows without looking that it’s Connor to the family group text, letting them know about dinner. She’ll have Catalina and Arabella at her heels by 4 in the afternoon. 

Sighing, Nevada relaxes into her car seat. A small smile plays at her lips. 

[*]

At 3:30 in the afternoon, Nevada arrives home, victorious and slightly nauseous. She’ll have to ask her mother about morning sickness. Pregnancy doesn’t appear as if it’ll be particularly fun for the first bit, gastronomically at least. 

She goes into the kitchen, finds some popcorn, and takes it upstairs to her home office. The house is quiet. She knows Connor is in the basement gym from a previous text. She settles in her office chair, powers up her laptop, and begins to type up the concluding notes on the cheating husband case. Every so often, she grabs a handful of popcorn. It’s the only thing she’s been able to stomach all day. 

At 4:15, Nevada hears the front door open, and her sisters’ laughter carrying through the hallways. 

“Oh come on,” she mutters, saving the case file as their steps echo. Connor had been _joking_ with them. They knew that, right?

“Nevada, come on,” Catalina says from the doorway of the office, smiling and breathless. She looks much more at ease than she did this morning. “You look like you haven’t showered in days.”

“Is that supposed to be encouraging?” Nevada snorts. 

“We have supplies!” Arabella calls from behind Catalina. 

“And a playlist, so you won’t get bored,” Catalina adds. 

Sighing, Nevada shuts down her laptop and rises from her desk. The desk is an antique; she saw it from a shop window one day shortly after she and Connor married. A week later, it was in her home office, ready for use. She likes the solid dark oak, the worn feel of the handles and drawers. She likes that it’s a little rough around the edges. It’s her type, she supposes. 

“You could do so much more than just a ponytail every day,” Catalina clucks as Nevada heads to the master bathroom to shower. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Nevada says in return, smiling slightly. Catalina is a self-possessed young woman now, fielding offers from various employers who see the value in her talents. But she stays in the family because she knows they will never exploit her. Indeed, she works mostly in search and rescue operations, as she has honed her talents sharply. “Did you break up with – George?”

“Todd,” she sighs. “And yes. I feel awful.”

“Boys are dumb,” Arabella mutters from behind them. 

“I’m never going to get this right,” Catalina says softly. 

“It’s not about being right. It’s about being you,” Nevada says as they enter the bedroom. “No one thought Connor was right, remember?”

“Actually, we all did,” Arabella says. 

“Except Mom. And I guess you,” Catalina shrugs. 

Huffing out a sigh, Nevada rubs her temples. “Ok, fine. But _I_ didn’t think so, and slowly we figured each other out. And now we’re married.”

“And procreating,” Arabella adds with a smirk. 

“Stop it,” Nevada mutters. 

“I cannot _believe_ you haven’t told him,” Arabella retorts. 

“Pick out some dress options for me,” Nevada calls over her shoulder as she leaves them in the pale late afternoon light of her bedroom and shuts the door to the master bathroom. She can hear them assessing her wardrobe (and not necessarily kindly) right before she turns on the shower and drowns them out. 

When she emerges, clad in her thick fuzzy purple bathrobe, they have three options, all in black, laid out on the bed. 

“Black’s a little austere,” she murmurs. 

“You’re a matron now,” Arabella retorts. 

Catalina rolls her eyes. “I think this one, with the scoop neck and the A-line,” she says, lifting the sleek dress in her arms and presenting it to Nevada. “You can wear the Tear with it.”

Nevada knows when to bow down to greater knowledge. Between her two sisters, she is coiffed and dressed by 6:15pm, her hair in loose waves down her shoulders. The Tear of the Aegean sits at her breastbone, and gold studs dot her ears. Nevada smiles at the two of them as she slips into her heels and digs out her formal black leather jacket. 

“Thanks, you two.”

They grin back at her. “Text us his reaction,” Catalina says, clapping her hands. 

“We asked Bern if we could get some fancy surveillance, but he said too short notice,” Arabella adds, a little doleful. 

Nevada shakes her head and shoos them out. “I’ll text you later and do _not_ come by before 10 in the morning tomorrow, ok?”

Both Arabella and Catalina “Oooooh” in unison, and laugh as they hurry down the stairs and out of the house. Nevada grabs a purse from her closet and tucks her wallet and phone in it. She pauses in front of the mirror attached to her dresser, looking at herself closely. She doesn’t _look_ different; she doesn’t _feel_ altered, except for an inexplicable dislike of breakfast pastry. She is still the same Nevada Baylor who has a gun holstered to her thigh under her dinner date outfit and magic brimming under her fingertips. 

And yet. 

[*]

Connor waits at the bottom of their main staircase, striking in all black. When Nevada steps to the top of the staircase, he looks up. His body language doesn’t change, but as she walks down the stairs towards him, his blue eyes brighten and the corners of his mouth soften into a smile. 

“Hi,” she says, leaning up to kiss him as she lands at the bottom of the stairs. 

His arm goes around her waist and tucks her close. The heat of him is welcome and comforting. “Hey.”

She keeps his gaze. He’s looking at her in that way he has of his, as if she is the only other person in the world. A shiver of magic slips up her spine as his fingers rest on the small of her back. Taking a deep breath, she wets her lips. 

“You look beautiful,” he says softly. His eyes narrow faintly. It’s his assessing look. If he figures it out before she can get it out of her mouth…

“Thank you,” she says, reaching up to touch his shaven jaw. “What’s the occasion?”

Connor smiles. “Can’t a man take his wife out on a date?” 

Tilting her head, she shrugs. “Sure he can.”

He takes her hand and together they walk towards the front door. “So suspicious, Nevada.”

“I know you,” she retorts.

Kissing her cheek, he opens the door for her. A winter breeze rustles her hair. “You certainly do.”

The drive into the city is easy and smooth. They hold hands as he drives through the flat countryside into the city proper. What she likes about their home is that she can see the stars, this far out from the city. But the sparkle of the skyline as they approach Houston is lovely against the night sky. 

Her stomach bubbles with uncertainty, nerves twitching in her fingertips. How does she tell him this momentous thing? They’ve talked about children in abstracts; the genetic aspect permeated so much of their early relationship. She made the conscious decision ten months ago to stop taking her birth control, which she told him. Apart from that, their conversations have been limited. She knows they both want children; she knows he would be a great if insufferably overprotective father. Still, even to just have it as a reality – she’s nervous. 

“You’re quiet,” Connor notes, pulling up to the curb of the building for the valet. 

“My sisters were around a lot today,” she says. She doesn’t wait for him to help her out of the car, which he notices as he hands the keys to the valet, and shoots her a knowing look. “They’re chatty.”

“That’s nothing new,” he says. He tucks her arm into the crook of his elbow as they walk into the lobby.

Flanders, atop one of the taller buildings in Houston, still reminds her somewhat of an aquarium when she’s in there. It’s early enough in the evening that the restaurant is busy but not full. The host leads them to a corner table, takes their jackets, leaves their menus, and departs with swift easy efficiency. 

Nevada peers over the menu, honey-blonde curls drifting over her shoulder. The Tear of the Aegean sits comfortably on her warm skin. She breathes in and lets her magic settle and hum against the questioning reach of his. 

“Red or white?” he asks, watching her over his menu with clear eyes. 

_Damn_. “I might stick to water. Too many late nights this week. I’m not as young as I used to be,” she teases lightly. 

He blinks but his face remains relaxed. “Sparkling?”

“Sure.”

“You’re thirty, Nevada. You’re hardly an ancient crone,” he adds. 

She shrugs, pressing the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Her face grows warm as he watches her. There’s a curl of warm magic against her throat. “Connor,” she warns. 

He grins, and a slice of the dragon she loves so much peeks out. “Nevada.”

Impulsively, she reaches out to touch his fingers with hers, smoothing her fingertips over the cool gold band of his wedding ring. Maybe – maybe now – 

The waiter breaks the moment. They look at him in unison, their hands still touching on the smooth tablecloth. 

“Sparkling water for two,” Connor says, glancing at her. 

“Arancini and the lemon asparagus to start,” she adds. 

“No carpaccio?” he asks once the waiter departs. “No wine?” He’s watching her cautiously, trying to puzzle her out. 

She bites the inside of her lip and her toes curl in her heels. “Are you trying to reenact something here?” she asks playfully. 

Connor settles back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. He strokes his fingers over hers. She shivers, her thighs squeezing together slightly. “Don’t turn me on here,” she warns. 

He smiles, long and slow. “You always turn me on, Nevada.”

“Even after all this time?” she teases. 

“As always,” he murmurs. 

The appetizers come, their water goblets filled. The bubbles settle her stomach as she sips it. She takes asparagus spears and nibbles delicately. The food disappears quickly and the waiter takes their order for entrees; she goes for the pork chop, a delicious tradition. He gets the rib-eye. They chat about her case, his business trip to Los Angeles, her sisters.

“Do you know what today is?” he asks over the remnants of their meal. The toes of one of his feet touch hers under the table. 

_He knows_. “No?” she says, biting her lip. 

Under the soft lighting of the room, candles flickering, his face is utterly relaxed. A projection settles between them; five years ago, chocolate mousse and war and a first date. 

“Connor,” she whispers. 

He shrugs those broad shoulders of his. They move with ease under his suit jacket. She wants to peel his clothes off and lay him out on their bed, run her hands over the breadth of his skin, scarred and smooth. “Our first real date. Seemed important to note.”

Her face flushes and her heartbeat skips. Every part of her wants to reach out to him and hold him. “How romantic,” she says shakily. 

He smiles faintly. “Dessert?”

She’s had the dessert here. It’s good. But now she wants to get him home. “At home?”

The look on his face is pure heat, a dragon headed to his lair. “You read my mind.”

Waiting for the car in the cool December air, she tucks her jacket around herself and nestles into the curve of his arm. Warmth radiates from his body. “I love you,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “Thank you for remembering.”

He holds her close against his chest, kissing the top of her hair. “Someone has to be sentimental in this relationship,” he says, deeply satisfied. 

[*]

The drive home is charged. She shivers as he touches her with his magic, slow soft tendrils across her wrists and down the line of her neck, following the path of her necklace. She keeps her hand wrapped around his thick rough wrist, feeling the press of his heartbeat against her fingers. 

When they arrive home, she moves into the kitchen, sliding her heels and jacket off as she walks through the front hall. Connor follows, as iron to true north. He takes a seat at the island and watches her as she pulls out ice cream and Oreos. 

“If I had remembered, I would have made mousse,” she says, grabbing two spoons. The ice cream is fudge ripple, one of their favorites. 

He leans his elbows on the countertop, watching her warmly. “It was the dessert at our wedding. You remember well enough.”

Nevada leans against the counter opposite to him, peeling the lid from the carton and opening the cookies. “Thank you for dinner,” she says.

Watching her, he pops an Oreo into his mouth. When he swallows, he reaches for a spoon. She takes a bite of the ice cream, relishing the coolness in her mouth. 

“Nevada?” he asks softly. Waiting. 

Mouth softening, she reaches over and takes his hand in hers, fingers clasped. 

“I’m pregnant, Connor,” she says quietly, keeping her gaze on his face. 

His muscles twitch under her touch. Heat flares in his eyes, his skin flushing. Magic suffuses the room; she is enveloped in him, by him. 

“Connor?” she asks, when he doesn’t speak after a moment. 

He gets up, a fierce look on his face, and crosses around the island to take her in his arms. Lifting her right off her feet, he presses her to his chest and buries his face in her neck, rocking back and forth on his heels. She wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him tightly, a sudden press of tears at the back of her eyes. Relief courses through her, muscles loosening in the comfort of his hold. Only with him can she be this relaxed, this at peace. 

“Shit,” he laughs into her throat. “Really?”

She rubs her hands up and down the line of his spine, shivering as his magic spills out of him, across her skin. “Yes.”

A projection limned in white surrounds her. Their lodge, high in the mountains. In the tree-lined landscape around the cabin, they walk together, one on each side of a young child in a blue snowsuit. She holds the left hand, Connor holds the right. They lift the child through the snow one foot at a time, making tracks in the fresh fall of snow. The smiles on their faces blind her. 

Tears slide out of the corners of her eyes as the projection falls away. Connor breathes against her hair, his arms tight around her. His hands press into her back, fingers soothing over the line of her spine. They stand locked together, as they have so often before at different precipices in life. This time, there is no mortal danger; no Alexander Strum, no David Howling, no Caesar. It is just the two of them, together, embarking on a new chapter of their journey. 

“You’re happy?” he asks, the words muffled against her skin and curls. 

A choked laugh escapes her lips. She lifts her head and meets his wide eyes. There’s a wariness there she remembers from five years ago, from before she said yes to the ring on her finger and the life they’ve built together. 

“Foolish, foolish Connor,” she whispers, wriggling her arms up to cup his face in her hands, her forearms resting on his chest. “Of course I am.”

The tension in his body dissipates and he smiles. He lifts her up onto the island counter and nestles between her legs. She leans into kiss him as her calves hook around the strong line of his hips. Magic, golden and warm, falls in slow drops over her collarbones as his mouth takes hers, tasting her as she tastes him. His hands slide over her spine and the curve of her hips, tucking the line of her skirt up over her thighs. He disarms her, setting her holster and gun to the side. The warm air of the house touches her bare legs as the magic skims over the curve of her breasts as they rise against the neckline of her dress. 

“Nevada,” he murmurs. The zip of her dress slides down with a flick of his telekinetic powers. The fabric gapes and magic spills against the revealed skin. She arches her back, sighing as he lays kisses down her throat and collarbones. His hands press over her bare thighs, skating up to her underwear. 

“Take me to bed, Connor,” she whispers, her fingertips tracing the hard line of his jaw. 

His eyes glow and his lips curve into a smile only she sees. “As you wish.”

And he does. 

[*]

They sleep in the next morning until the group text with her family grows too insistent to ignore. Nevada throws her phone across the room, where it settles into a comfortable existence on an armchair near the windows. 

Connor just grins and hands her paint swatches for the nursery. 

“This is preemptive,” she murmurs through a yawn.

He taps his temple lightly with his knuckles. “Have to be quick to keep up with you, Baylor.”

She wonders as she squints at the paint chips how long he’s thought about this. It warms her through. “Yellow?” she asks, flipping them through her fingers like playing cards. 

“Honey gold,” he retorts, skimming through the texts (her sisters are a variety of emojis and all capitals, from what she can glean from glancing at his phone) as he sits up against the headboard of their bed. “Like your hair.”

She snorts. “Yeah, ok. You’re crazy,” she says through a smile.

Connor bends over and kisses her forehead. “Yeah.”

Setting the paint swatches aside, she slides over to straddle him, naked and gleaming in the bright sunshine. “I love you,” she murmurs, sliding her hands through his hair. 

He cups her hips, thumbs running over the curve of her muscle and bone. “Love you, too,” he says into her kiss. 

Together, they crawl under the blankets. The group texts and the imagined nursery will be there in the afternoon.

[*]


End file.
